Heart's Truth
by Corianin
Summary: After sending Jack to the kraken, life becomes quite interesting for young Miss Swann and the others. Will they be able to resolve their differences and face their trials before it's all too late?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: So I was checking emails on an account I rarely access and I had a lot of old fanfic friends that - seeing that I was now online with an actual account of my own at FF net - asked if I planned to post my Pirates of the Caribbean fic. It takes place after Dead Man's Chest, but ignores the fact that At World's End ever happened...which isn't a surprise, seeing as how I started it less than two days after DMC was released to theaters. I'd gone to watch it opening day, and the next night the idea for this fic hit me, so I started writing. However, I never finished it before AWE came out, and I was happy with the way they'd done that movie, so I never really thought about going back to this one. That is, until I saw the number of people that wanted me to post it here and finish it. It's a good little story in its own right - 'little', of course, meaning my typical epic-length excursion - and honestly, I kind of like the fact that I will actually be finishing it. I'm eager to see where it goes. Enjoy!

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Nothing caresses the skin, she thought, quite like the gentle chill of the ocean air at twilight, the breezes smoothing fabric over curves and dancing with strands of hair while the crescent moon looks on, a smile of contentment in the near-cloudless evening heavens. Were it any other time, she could enjoy it, revel in the wind stroking her, soothing her. But calming as it was, it could soothe only her body, not her heart, nor her soul. Nothing existed that could comfort the aches she felt, pain that had lasted longer than any bodily injury she'd ever known. She'd betrayed them both, in that one simple moment, that single span of time in which she'd done what she felt she had to. No manner of rationalization could stem the flow of pain from her heart, the liquid agony that ran down her cheeks unheeded, chilled by that same caressing salty breeze. Staring at the horizon, feeling the burn in her eyes, that which paled by comparison to the turmoil in her very being, she watched the sea with no hope at all as a single word echoed and reverberated deep within the hollowness where her heart once was.

"Pirate."

xXxXxXxXx

The stench was terrible. He did not know how long he'd been in this rotting hellhole, and cared less. If being down the gullet of a carnivorous, supposedly mythological monstrosity wasn't plenty to ruin a man's day, what with the digestive juices eating slowly away at his clothing and his hat shredded by the three rows of age-yellowed teeth he'd had to dodge when it opened its maw over him, the knowledge that he was most likely going to go the same route his effects were headed was enough to kill the jovial appearances he tried to keep up. He'd spent more time than he'd tracked wandering around and through the cavernous entrails, squeezing himself through fleshy, slimy holes here and there, and in general having a completely lousy day. It had almost been enough to make him forget the look on her face, the guilt she'd claimed not to feel, the attraction she'd never admit to. Almost, but not quite. What he wanted was a good bottle of rum. What he had was the gradually decaying scraps of clothing he wore, and his sword. Now, if only he could find a likely route to whichever end of this great and terrible beastie would lead out the easiest, he'd be in better shape. Trying to shrug off any thoughts but those pertaining to the security of his own self, especially those of haunted, deep eyes and the grudging respect their bearer had earned from him, he wiped a bit more slime off of his face and trudged on. Somehow he knew he'd get out. Why? Because she hadn't seen the last of Captain Jack Sparrow.

xXxXxXxXx

Pausing in front of his mirror to admire the way his formal white wig accentuated the appearance of reclaimed dignity that graced him, he picked up his old sword and buckled it on, feeling the familiar weight of it against his hip. Confident that he no longer looked the part of a drunken wastrel, he turned to leave only to find his way blocked by the odious little man to whom he now owed allegiance. A temporary allegiance, he reminded himself, thinking of his plans for the future – a future he now saw himself as having, a future he had been unsure of in the months since that scallywag plummeted from the tower top, leaving him to face the knowledge that he would have to see her happily wed to a lesser man. Within his own mind, the thought fell short. Turner was not a lesser man. Simply different. He supposed he couldn't blame Elizabeth of following her heart. It just rankled bitterly that her heart was not as fond of him as it was of a common blacksmith. No matter. He firmly placed the troubling concepts in the back of his mind, to be dealt with at a later date. Right now, he would need to have all of his wits and skill about him, so as to be able to free himself from the vows of fealty he'd sworn to Beckett without the morally-challenged runt realizing what he was doing. Fixing his trademark confident expression onto his newly-shaven features, he greeted his visitor with a warmth both wholly feigned and completely believable.

"So, Master Beckett, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?" The shorter man simply blinked, a small, sardonic smile twisting his lips.

"Ah, Commodore Norrington, you seem a changed man since last we spoke. The trappings of station suit you. As to my visit, I have a small…task…which I wish you to carry out." He moved into the room, gesturing imperiously for Norrington to take a seat, in his own chambers. Acquiescing to his temporary employer, he sat and stretched his legs out, taking care to appear totally at ease.

"And what is the nature of this task?" he asked, placing just the right amount of curiosity into the words. The smile on Beckett's face never wavered.

"There is a ship, heading for an unknown destination. Aboard this ship are some individuals I believe you have had contact with recently. One of these individuals is in possession of an item the East India Trading company wants badly." Norrington understood that to mean an item Beckett wanted badly. And he knew which item.

"So, I'm to go and retrieve the compass from Miss Swann and return it to you." He paused, appearing to think for a moment. "When do I sail?"


	2. Chapter 2

His face reflected the turmoil his spirit was feeling as he stood against the rail of the ship, not noticing the pitch and roll of the vessel as the waves grew choppy, not noticing even that the crew had given him a wide berth since they set sail. So internal and introspective were his thoughts that it wasn't until her soft touch traced through his hair that he realized he was no longer alone. His heart jumped into his throat as he spun around, only to find a strand of his hair still in the possession of a pair of slim, dark fingers.

"All alone, starin' out ta sea. Somethin' troubles ye, Will." Tia Dalma's unusual features showed sympathy and something else, something fleeting, but in his emotional haze he saw nothing but the first. He turned back to the waters, seeking some kind of comfort from the incessant motion, but he could not achieve the former oblivious state he'd had moments before. With a little inward sigh he turned back to his silent companion.

"Can I help you, Miss Dalma?" Into his voice crept the irritation at being interrupted that he'd tried to disguise with politeness. By the saucy grin on her face, he knew she'd caught the tone as well.

"Not Miss anyt'ing. I no lay claim ta anyt'ing so grand." She chuckled a bit, and as he stayed silent, she continued, the cadence of her voice and peculiar accent strangely comforting. "Seems to me, ye'er vexed by da plague o' men. And it also seems dat ye'er not gwen ta talk t'the cause o'ye troubles." With that, she shot a sly glance up deck to where the very subject of his thoughts was leaning and staring out to sea, as he had been a moment earlier. He sighed.

"I don't think she wants to talk to me, Miss…uh, Tia Dalma." He tried to mesmerize himself with the evening light playing upon the waves, but it didn't work.

"An' so ye go t'inking ye know what she about, do ye?" A chuckle graced the sentence, letting Will understand that she meant no offense. "Have ye spoken since Jack went to de Locker?" He shook his head. "Why dat be, Will?" He intended to stay silent, to not open his mouth. But intentions go awry, even the strongest, and the pain in his voice was unmistakable.

"She kissed him!" He slumped against the railing, not looking at anyone or anything, knowing he was rambling but unable to stop. "I saw them, before the kraken got the ship, and Jack. She was kissing him like…like…like a lover would, not like we've kissed, like…and I love her so much, and she was…" He stopped, sitting on the deck, not caring at all about the water thrown against him by the increasing wildness of the waves. He couldn't look up. Not at her, who had hurt him so badly, not at Tia Dalma standing before him. "I wanted to kill him. For that. For her. I've lost her, Tia Dalma. I've lost her, and I can't get her back, because I don't know if I want her back, not if she doesn't want me."

Her heart went out to the young man. Blacksmith, pirate, didn't matter, he was still a man, and he was hurting. She crouched down next to him, tenderly smoothing his damp hair back against his head, finally hugging him to her while he broke down utterly.

"Dat's it, young one. Let it out. It will only fester like p'ison if ye leave it wit'in." Murmuring under her breath in her native tongue, she held him until he stopped crying. His pain had called to her in ways she hadn't known for years, and as he rested in her arms, she knew that Miss 'Lizabeth had a lot to account for.


	3. Chapter 3

He stared at the map on the wall, watching while his latest cartographer sketched out new notations and locations. The blank edges were indeed being filled in, as he'd told young Turner, and only the most powerful would survive the knowledge. Such as himself. Beckett sipped his brandy with something close to satisfaction, turning slowly when he heard footsteps approach. With a slightly disdainful look, he glanced over the former Governor Swann.

"So good of you to join me, Mr. Swann."

"I don't see as how I had a choice. As usual." The little man in front of him had always set Weatherby Swann's teeth on edge. He had power, liked it, and used it unmercifully to whichever whims suited his purpose, all in the name of progress and loyalty.

"One would think you are not grateful, Mr. Swann."

"Grateful?" he spat. "For what? For the loss of my title and my home, for my missing freedom? For my daughter, who is heavens only know where right now, who you swore to find and bring to safety, my only family that I've heard no word of since agreeing to your bargain? For which of these should I be grateful? Inform me so that I may correct my apparent errors."

Beckett only smiled to himself. He enjoyed this, the ability to push people to their breaking point, and have them helpless to do anything but rant and rail against their circumstances. He took special pride in breaking those who were once powerful themselves. Time to twist the invisible knife a bit further.

"Oh yes, your daughter. The beautiful Elizabeth. I've received word of her." The abject relief on the older man's features was almost comical. "Last heard, the young lady was traveling in the company of pirates, bound for the central swamp and the home of the notable Tia Dalma, prophetess, seer, charlatan, what have you."

"Why on earth would she go there?" Swann's confusion was visible.

"Why, indeed, Mr. Swann. Why indeed."

xXxXxXxXx

The wood planks creaked under their feet as the six of them walked from the ship to the dock. A subdued silence rested on the group, begun and enforced by the two that brought up the rear. Neither Will nor Elizabeth took much notice of their surroundings; for all that they were in a land far and different from their own, they may as well have been walking circles inside little boxes for all the attention they paid to anything outside of their own minds. With Barbossa in the lead, the small group wound its way though the bustling beginnings of the port of Singapore. Deftly he maneuvered his little entourage around peddlers and thieves, past bars and whorehouses, no one saying a word to one another. Shadows and people slipped around, through, and past the crew, yet the only person who might have noticed one of their number missing was walking through his own furious, betrayed haze, and failed to see the object of his discomfort as she was whisked down a side alley and out of sight.

Without pause, the remaining five, unaware they were a man…er, woman…short, continued their trek through the crowds, until Barbossa stopped at the wooden door to a dingy little hovel, back beyond the view of the general passersby. Knocking twice, he opened the door and entered, with a gesture to signal that they all were to follow, and a whispered admonition to close the door behind them. Each passed that whisper over their shoulder to the one behind them, from Gibbs to Pintel, to Ragetti, to Will, who whispered the same over his shoulder without once checking to see that the direction was followed.

The hallway was dark and winding, and it seemed to Will, in his distraction, that they must have been walking into the bowels of the earth for hours when Barbossa turned a corner into a dimly lighted area. And there in the center of the room, wrapped in delicate silk and flower-patterned gauze, was a woman. Following Barbossa's unspoken lead, one by one the party knelt before this curiously beautiful woman. For a long time, not a word was spoken. And then, just when Will was starting to wonder if any purpose was served by their being in that room, she spoke.

/William Turner. You've a long way come, and a longer voyage yet to be weathered.

With some shock, he realized the mystery female had never moved her lips. Completely baffled, he told himself he was simply imagining things.

/Such an easy self-deception. But that is what it is, is it not? You know you feel my words within your soul.

Who are you? What do you want? Can the others hear you as well? He felt quite strange, asking questions of his own mind, but it somehow felt appropriate not to break the silence.

/I am Zatelle. I am speaking to the others, of their own matters, much as I am speaking to you, dear William. And it is not what I want, but what you need that has brought you all to me.

What I need? What we need?

/They seek Jack Sparrow's life and salvation. You seek peace from your own thoughts.

Who are you, to speak so boldly of my wants? You know nothing about me.

/I know much, William. I know you love. I know you hurt. I know you wish for things to be as they once were. And that you know nothing will ever happen to make that so. You feel your pain too keenly to let go of what you see as betrayal.

What I see…now, wait a moment here. How could it be anything else? I loved her with all my being, and she chose him! Why am I talking to you about this anyway?

/Before you leave in anger, young William, keep in mind that not all acts are performed for the reasons others would attach to them. And while we are on that subject, where is the light of your life now?

She's right behind…he stood and spun around, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"She's gone!!!" he yelled, before bolting up the hallway and out the door into the Singapore sunlight.


	4. Chapter 4

His skin burned. It itched. His lungs felt full of jam, an acidic jam, one that blazed its way up and down his throat like the worst liquor he'd ever had, mixed with salt and copper. Each breath was agony in itself. But quit? How did one do that? He didn't know. One foot in front of the other. Ignore the ache in your joints and bones. It simply means you're alive. He persuaded himself with every step, every breath, to just keep going. He had too much to live for to let himself be food for some gigantic slimy creature. Each chamber he walked through seemed to be the same as the last, and he fought with the despair that tried to convince him he'd been going around in circles. He had to get out. One. More. Step. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

His body was on autopilot. His brain was barely functioning. It wasn't until he'd been trudging for a few moments that he realized his skin felt cooler. Stopping in puzzlement, he gauged the sensation. Yes! He smelled salt! Looking down at his feet through blurry vision, he saw the pasty color of the sludge and realized it was considerably thinner and less abrasive than it had been. Hope gave him a new wind, and he stumbled towards the source of the fresher environment.

xXxXxXxXx

The first thing she noticed was the musty rags covering her mouth and eyes, the scratchiness of the rope that bound her wrists and ankles. Fear lent her strength and she struggled futilely against her bonds, until a searing pain shot from her arm into her shoulder and made her scream through the gag. After spots stopped dancing behind her eyelids, she gently tried to move her arm again, only to find the pain worse than before. Her last thought before blacking out was that her arm had been broken, and that she had to stay awake and alive long enough for her friends to rescue her.

xXxXxXxXx

"You could put 'er to work now. There's plenty o'blokes as wouldn't object to a spot o' company with a broken arm. Not like it's the arms they cares about anyway." The speaker gave a coarse chuckle as he bargained with the cloaked woman sitting across the table. His eyes kept greedily flickering to the bag sitting in the center of the table, his payment for the job.

"Yes, but I would not have her marked or scarred in any way. Our employer has paid most…generously…to ensure her timely and safe delivery to me. Broken bones and bruises were not a part of our bargain." Her cultured voice was ice, ice with a veneer of civility. The man swallowed hard. He had never before realized just how dangerous this woman was. He swallowed again.

"Aye, but she put up a fight, she did. We had to quiet her somehow before she brought half the port down on us." If anything, she seemed even less influenced.

"And here we were under the impression you were, how you say, a professional." She paused, reaching across to the bag and withdrawing a handful of gold coins. Counting ten of them into her hand, she placed the rest back in the bag and pushed the bag across the table to him. It felt substantially lighter, but he wasn't about to argue. Instead, he flashed her a grin that he'd been told was charming, and stood up.

"Been a pleasure doin' business with ya, m'lady," he said as he backed towards the door.

"I wish I could say the same. I will be contacting our employer to inform him the transaction is complete."

Without saying another word, he simply nodded and headed out the door. A few moments passed while the woman sat quietly. After a time, she picked up a small silver bell from the edge of the table. Ringing it once, she placed it back in its assigned spot and directed her instructions to the man she knew would have answered her summons.

"Follow him and kill him. Leave the corpse to the sea. Buy passage on the next ship to Tortuga, from there to Port Royal. Inform Lord Beckett that his instructions have been carried out to the last letter."

Silence was her only companion as the door behind her slid shut again.


	5. Chapter 5

"But we must find her! She has to be somewhere in this godforsaken place!" Will was pacing the deck of the ship like a man possessed, a pendulum swinging back and forth between fear and frustration. Barbossa watched him from his leaning place against the mast, savoring the apple in his hand as he chuckled with amusement. Sometimes the lad was just too entertaining to watch. He said as much, and Will stopped in mid-rant, swinging around to fix him with a glare that would have curdled milk.

"How dare you! You, stand there and mock me? You bastard!"

"Listen to y'self, Will! You sound a fool! We cannot just drop everything and go rushing off to who knows where demanding her return. We've no idea where she might be in this town. Or even if she still is in the town to begin with." Here he paused for a moment, giving Will the chance to see reason. When it was obvious the younger man would have none of it, he sighed and continued.

"Turner, I'd have no problem looking for the lass. I'm rather fond of her m'self." At Will's incredulous look, he continued. "She's got spirit, and more guts than most men I've met. But this 'godforsaken place', as you called is, it the world's most well-known haven for smugglers."

"I thought that was Tortuga." The younger man spat.

"Aye, lad, if you be looking for smuggled goods. But Singapore…well, they run a higher type of merchandise through here." From the look on Will's face, it didn't sink in. "People, Will. Slaves. Not just for the mainlanders. They're sold to every port of call in the known world, and some that aren't. Not like the type yer lady had at her father's home, either. Here, one's more likely to be sold to a mine to be worked to death for no pay and less regard. Or, in the case of the fair and beautiful Miss Swann…well, there's plenty of people who would pay a fair coin to have a prize so lovely gracing their rooms, for the pleasure of their patrons." He trailed off, the import of what he was saying slowly sinking in. Barbossa hadn't thought it was possible for a person's eyes to literally bulge without the added stimulus of pain, but the boy proved him wrong, doing an involuntary impression of a bullfrog. Then again, Barbossa thought, sometimes pain of the heart could be worse than any physical torture you could put a man through.

"A brothel? Barbossa! She's to be sold as a whore! We MUST find her! Elizabeth…" he strength gave out and he slumped against the rail, sliding slowly to the damp deck. He whispered her name over and over again, a talisman against her misfortune. He never noticed when the crew shuffled back to their duties. He was oblivious to the fact that it wasn't he alone who was troubled. And even when Tia Dalma came out and sat in silence beside him, wordlessly offering to help share his burden of fear and sorrow, he never saw. All he could see was the inside of his mind as he uncontrollably contemplated the horrors awaiting the one he still loved more than life itself.

An hour passed by before he stood up. Seeing his quiet companion for the first time, he offered her a hand to get to her feet. He knew she knew what he planned. Walking towards Barbossa, he waited until the older man turned to him.

"I'm going after her. You can stay, or you can go, but I don't have that luxury. If anything happened to her…" He was surprised when the other nodded.

"I thought as much. Pintel! Ragetti!" The two in question hastened over to their temporary and former captain. "Young Mister Turner here is going to search for the lass. I want you men to help him. Three sets of eyes will serve his purpose more than just his one, and we've plenty of men to crew the Pearl." Will stared in shock, causing Barbossa to chuckle. "Like I said, lad, I'm a bit fond of the chit. As are most of the crew of this vessel, I'd imagine. You find your lady fair. Let us worry about finding dear Jack." His smirk was more amused and less sarcastic for once. "Who'd have thought I would ever be the one set to find that scoundrel? No matter." He turned away, walking towards the cabins, speaking over his shoulder as he went.

"Tia Dalma, I assume you're going with the lad? He'll need someone to keep him from having his head separated from his shoulders. We leave in two days, Turner. If you're not back by then, we sail without you. But don't worry," he added roguishly, "we might be able to swing by and pick you up once we've rescued Jack Sparrow."

"Captain!" Will snapped without thinking. He was answered with only a chuckle as Barbossa went belowdeck. Turning to the three beside him, he spoke softly.

"Thank you, all of you. Despite what Barbossa said, I'll not hold it against you if you'd rather stay and go save Jack."

"The poppet needs our help. What manner of men would we be if we di'nt offer it?"

"And you, Tia Dalma?"

"De lovely young lady need to be found, Will Turner. De crew may find Jack's body, but it be 'Lizabeth an' no one else who be findin' his soul."

Will puzzled for a moment before just letting it lie. "Well, then, let's go scour Singapore."

xXxXxXxXx

The food was superb. The view from his window? Outstanding. So why was he so ill-content here? Weatherby Swann walked a slow circle, from bed to chest, to window, and back again. Oh, yes, it was because he was being held political prisoner to a man whose thoughts never went beyond what would serve his own needs or desires. With a sigh, Swann sat back down on the edge of the bed. He could as easily have gone out to his sitting room, but in his current frame of mind, one room was the same as another when being in them symbolized your essential captivity.

From out in the courtyard he heard shouting, as though someone was in pain. Standing up, he walked swiftly out the glass-paned doors that led to the large bay balcony and looked over the railing. Below, Cutler Beckett was purposefully swinging his arm, and it took a moment for Swann's eyes to become accustomed to the morning glare enough for him to tell that the other man had a whip in his hand that he was plying like a master. Swann followed the lash to the other end, where a slight, muscular African slave was tied to a post. The man's back was already covered with slices from the whip, and not all of them looked to be from the current beating.

Swann himself had owned slaves, but had never beaten them, had never seen the compulsion to punish that others had. The compulsion Beckett apparently had in spades. Disgusted, he turned from the railing and went back inside. Every single day gave him something new to heartily dislike about the East India representative. His thoughts were broken by a young slave girl coming in carrying a covered tray with a teapot on it. Swann surmised it was his breakfast, though he had no appetite, especially with the increasingly agonized screams echoing through the courtyard. He noticed the maid flinching with each new cry as she silently sat the tray down and bustled to open the curtains. His heart went out to the poor girl.

"Miss, what is your name?" She jumped as if slapped, her eyes slamming back down to the ground in terrified subservience. Swann decided to take a chance.

"It is perfectly fine to answer me, my dear. I am not as quick to anger as your master is." He heard her mumble something under her breath, but still she did not lift her eyes. Welling with compassion, he reached out for her hand, and she cowered like a puppy that had been beaten. Oh, how he hated Beckett! But he could tell that she was too scared to converse with. A plan began to form in his mind.

"It's alright, miss, if you wish not to speak. I simply thought I would thank you for being such a prompt and dutiful worker, and wondered which name I should address my gratitude to." He let go of her hand and sat down, carefully not looking at her, attempting to give no indication that he'd noticed anything odd about her behavior whatsoever. As he lifted the cloth napkin off of the tray and began pouring his tea, she headed towards the door. At the entrance to the hallway outside, she paused. Never taking her eyes from the ground, she whispered something that he barely caught.

"I'm sorry, miss?"

"Zeela. Me name Zeela." And she fled into the corridor, leaving Weatherby Swann to his breakfast and his thoughts, both of which he found he had an appetite for, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Something cool was on her face, stroking with gentle motions, and it took her a moment to remember what had happened. Opening her eyes in fury and fear, she looked into the large doe eyes of the girl bathing her forehead, startling the other so much that she dropped the damp rag smack dab onto Elizabeth's mouth. Sputtering, she tried to sit up, but between the pain shooting through her arm and the other woman's careful pressure on her uninjured shoulder, she didn't get very far.

"Shhh. Mother, she wishes you to rest and to heal. She did set me to watch over you in case you waked. She did tell me to tell you that you are safe."

The odd, lilting cadence of the other woman's speech was comforting, but Elizabeth was not in the mood for comfort.

"You tell your mother that I want to speak to her immediately. And that I want explanations as to what is happening, and that I wish to be returned to my ship by the fastest means possible." She made her voice as hard and haughty as she could, yet the other woman simply shook her head and resumed wiping her skin with the damp, cool rag.

"Mother, she said I was to watch you, and let her know when you woke. She did tell me to say to you that you are not to be going back to your ship. That your ship has already left the harbor, she did say."

The fight drained out of Elizabeth completely. The ship had left already? Did they not know she wasn't among them? Surely not. There must have been some mistake. Her brain spinning like a child's toy, she dimly realized that hostility and ruptured dignity were going to get her exactly nowhere, so she decided to try another tactic. Summoning tears to her eyes – not at all difficult, considering – she looked up at nursemaid.

"Where am I? What's to become of me? Who are you?" She tried to sound as querulous as possible, hoping to prey on the sensibilities of the other woman. It seemed to work a bit, because the rag strokes became more comforting, more sure.

"You do be in the house of Ti-Sian, to become newest companion. I do be Ryah, and have been set to watch and help you. It be our way, that a new companion is given to the care of a trained companion to ease the settling in. In your case, it do be my job to tend you and teach you what can be taught until your bones mend completely. Mother, she do have high hopes for you, that be why she paid so much. Gold-haired companions do draw more than others, because hair the color of yours is not found among the Malay."

Elizabeth wasn't sure if her shocked silence came from the fact that she had been sold, or the situation she'd been sold to. Everything burst out in denial.

"NO! Do you mean to tell me I'm to be a…a…strumpet? A woman for pay? I'll not have it!" Screeching the last words, she tried to leap to her feet, but even had she been able to ignore the pain that nearly stole her consciousness, there was more strength in Ryah's slim frame than she would have credited. In short order, she was back down on the bed, with Ryah shaking her head vigorously and resuming her damp cloth ministrations.

"You do be mistaken. A companion be not a common loose woman. We be the most beautiful and most talented among our families. What selfishness that do be, to give all of ourselves to one, and not share our gifts with all?" Elizabeth found herself fading back to the darkness quickly as her mind shut itself down for its own protection. She never heard Ryah's explanations or comments, and was only able to form one word, one name, to leave her lips before all was black.

XXxXxXxXx

"Three days. Three days, and not a breath of where she might be." Will was a caged lion pacing the room. Pintel and Ragetti were staying well clear of their current leader, occupying themselves with dice while he wandered to and fro in the small space. Tia Dalma, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the bed and watched the young man grow increasingly frustrated. After a few moments, she realized he wasn't going to calm down on his own, so she stood and glided over, laying her hands on his forearm. The contact jolted him out of his anger-fueled reverie, and he spun to stare at her as if he'd never seen her before.

"Tia Dalma, we've searched everywhere! What if she truly was taken to somewhere else? How will we find her?" She led him over and sat him down at the edge of the bed she'd just vacated, crouching down before him.

"Sit down, Will Turner. We find de young lady. But it no be helpin' t'ings for ye to be outta ye'er mind wit' worryin' and fear."

"Is there anything you can do? We have a need to find Elizabeth! I know you have powers! Can anything help?" Tia Dalma shook her head, and Will sagged bonelessly backwards onto the lumpy mattress. She stood up and sat beside him, folding one of his hands between her own.

"Dere is one person dat may help. She be here in Singapura." A spark of life flared in him, and he sat up, looking directly at her. The despair in his eyes grabbed hold of her like hands.

"Who? Where is she?"

"Ye've already met, Will. She be Zatelle."

"The one Barbossa took us to? But she's…" Unable to find a proper description for the encounter he'd had, he chose to not finish his sentence.

"Aye, she be a wytch, dat be for true. But she be powerful beyond imaginin'. If dere be a soul dat could help us find de young Swann, it be she."

Will nodded and stood up before she was even done speaking. Holding his hand out to her, he pulled her to her feet and motioned to the two sailors at the rickety table.

"Hop to, then. Let's go see this what this Zatelle can offer our search. I will not let any lead lie if it means a chance of finding Elizabeth alive and well at the end of it."

XXxXxXxXx

The sand felt like heaven. His breath coming in gasps, he rolled over wearily to watch the corpse of the kraken sink into the depths. After slicing through the throat in a number of places, it was sheer luck alone that the creature's last dying spasms expelled him between the enormous teeth and out into the shallows before they closed forever. He felt no awe at the death of the monster. Just utter, complete relief that he'd not killed his own fool self in the process. Fighting against the blackness that threatened to drag him under, he scooted and crawled his way up the beach, forcing himself along until his fingers met grassy land. He pulled himself up the last few feet to get completely out of the sand and away from the tide when it surged, then collapsed onto his back and closed his eyes, feeling his strength drain out of him completely from the ghastly ordeal he'd just survived. Slowly, completely, and more powerful than any wave ever seen, sleep pulled him down into its blessed oblivion and enfolded him in its caring arms.

Opening his eyes, he saw that the light hadn't changed a whit. Either he hadn't been asleep for long, or he'd slept through an entire day, maybe two, and woken up at the same time of day he'd washed ashore. No matter. Hauling himself to his feet, feeling the protests of muscles weakened by fatigue and hunger, he set about to ignore the first and assuage the second. Eyes blurry and dry from the sand and the vagaries of the salt water, and feeling completely coated in dried goo, Jack wandered into the line of trees and felt the breezes cooled by the shade of millions of leaves. Apple trees? Where on earth had he washed up, then? Too hungry to care much, he plucked two apples and immediately began to devour one of them. Juice dripping down his chin, his next item of concern was finding fresh water to drink. Stumbling slightly on feet that protested the movements, he made his way perpendicular to the beach. If there was any flowing water on the land he was on, eventually it would have to meet the sea. And walking under the shade of the trees, with mossy ground under his feet, was infinitely preferable to struggling through sand on muscles that were screaming at any movement whatsoever. Looking down for his apple, he realized he'd eaten them both, so he began watching the trees he passed as he walked for more signs of edible fruits.

He was just pulling a handful of extraordinarily sweet-tart berries off of a thornless, full-leafed bush when he heard a peculiar sound. Cocking his head to the side, he listened intently. Yes! There! He stumbled off, a little more sure-footed since he'd been breathing non-toxic air and eating a little, to find the burbling he knew had to indicate flowing water of some sort. Sure enough, a short while later, he came over a small rise and stepped into ankle-deep icewater. Dropping gratefully to his stomach, he buried his face in the stream, not caring that guzzling the cold liquid was going to give him a stomachache. He drank as much as he could hold, then splashed it on his face and let it run through his hair. Flopping down on the bank, he finished off the last few berries, letting his fingers trail in the water to remove whatever dirt and juice stains they could. More relaxed than he had been in a very long time, he closed his eyes and dozed again. His last coherent thought was that he could really use some rum. But, of course, that didn't stop him from sleeping soundly on the soft, slightly squishy banks of the happy little stream.


	7. Chapter 7

Norrington watched the last light of day fade below the watery horizon. He'd spent the day at the helm, running his mind over and through the rat maze that was his agreement to Beckett. As last, he finally decided there was only one thing he could do. His mind resolved, he motioned the first mate to take his place as he wandered back down to his cabin. Beckett wanted the compass. However, the thought of such a repulsive opportunist all but owning the seven seas was not only bad news for pirates, but for any who sailed her waters. Norrington could see all to easily how quickly that power would be abused for selfish wants and deceitful dealings. It all came down to the fact that even above his social and professional status, he belonged to the sea first. It never occurred to him to wonder when that change had become apparent. He never thought on it at all, in fact.

Walking to his writing desk, he took out new sheets of paper and a fresh quill. He insisted on trimming his own pens. Each person had a different way of writing, he figured, so how would one person be able to make a quill that would suit another? Dipping pen into ink, he began to write several messages, each to various people in various places. He may not have been exactly fond of Will Turner or the crew the boy now sailed with, but he was more inclined to favor him for Elizabeth's sake than to take Beckett's side, knowing the man had planned to put her – and incidentally Norrington himself – to death.

He would be damned if that compass ever found its way into Beckett's possession. And somehow he would find a way to make sure the heart of Davy Jones left said possession as quickly as possible.

He was still writing when the boat began to make berth at Tortuga's famed docks.

XXxXxXxXx

"And how is she faring?" The well-dressed woman was sitting at her desk, apparently engrossed in the figures she was working on. But as Ryah had learned, appearances could be very deceiving. Ti-Sian was one of the most manipulative, heartless, and thoroughly successful women in all of Singapore. It was always best to err on the side of formality and obeisance. From her kneeling position on the floor, Ryah spoke without ever once raising her eyes.

"Sleeping, Mother. Her arm, it do be tended and wrapped. Doctor Patan do say it should heal without issue, as it do be a clean break. I did give her the herbal soup you requested, and I do be thinking she will sleep for a long time."

"Very good," the woman murmured. This girl had cost her a tidy sum, and she intended to regain her investment if it meant swaddling and coddling her until she was fully healed and trained. By now, her messenger should be more than halfway to Beckett to inform him that the first step of his arrangement was completed. Why he singled out this young woman was no concern of the Mother of the house of Ti-Sian. What mattered was the income she would bring the house, and the honor Ti-Sian herself would hold for having such a beautiful and exotic companion in her employ. Dipping her pen in the inkwell once more, she continued the records she'd been copying all morning. A slight wave of her hand dismissed the younger woman from her presence.

Ryah backed out of the room on her knees, only standing once the door had been shut quietly. With swift steps she rushed to the kitchens to hurriedly gulp her own food before taking the teapot and cup up the stairs to where the golden-haired newcomer slept. Doctor Patan was just washing his hands when she came in on silent feet. He nodded to her by way of greeting and dried off on a towel hanging by the washbasin.

"She sleeps yet, young Ryah. She shall sleep for many hours, I believe, which is good. She should have warm broth and meat when she wakes, as much as she wants. Her body needs to regain the strength it now spends to repair what is broken."

"As you do say, Doctor. We do humbly thank you for your aid." The doctor chuckled, his white hair swinging forward in front of piercing green eyes as his the corner of his mouth curved upwards in a grin.

"You mean to say that you thank me. I highly doubt the Mother could be pulled from her numbers long enough to give her own thanks to such a person as I, regardless of my station." Ryah nodded, and he chuckled again. Ti-Sian's dislike for half-breeds was legend, and only his unsurpassed reputation as a healer and seer granted him access to the house bearing her name. Even so, she preferred he treat his patients and leave with alacrity. He gathered his things and walked towards the door. Almost hesitantly, he turned back.

"Ryah? Be careful with this one. She has many auras surrounding her, and should any one of them stop for even a moment, it could mean the end of the house of Ti-Sian." With those words he departed, leaving the young Malaysian woman alone with her thoughts. Contemplating what the doctor had said, she settled herself on the room's only chair and set about with needle and thread to alter a beginning companion's robe to fit her new sister.

XXxXxXxXx

Beckett smiled, the grin of a jaguar, as he shut and locked the carved ivory box on his desk. The messenger had met with exceedingly fair winds to have delivered it so swiftly. He'd made sure to pay the man accordingly. Doubtless his return message was already speeding its way back to Singapore with the same promptness. The shrew had not had the compass on her, but no matter. Norrington was likely leaving Tortuga within the next few days to track Barbossa and his crew of miscreants wherever they were headed. He would get it soon enough. In the meantime, he still had the other prize. He glanced fondly over to the lacquered chest sitting on an iron stand in the corner. To any visitors it would look simply like an exquisitely carved bit of local craftsmanship, but only he knew that the true value lay in the quietly thumping mass of flesh within.

"Lord Beckett, sir? The body has been taken care of, sir. Have you any further orders?" The recruit at the door was green, true, but very good at what he did. He picked up things quickly, and had already risen in ranks. Beckett searched for his name within his mental files, found it.

"That will be all, Lieutenant Corsair. You may return to your post." The young man bowed deferentially and turned to go back to his current station. Beckett had no idea where that would be, and even less desire to care. Why bother to keep track of the men underneath him? That is what he had clerks and commanders for.

Slaves, on the other hand, were his personal concern. The one he'd had to whip the other morning was a perfect example. He'd been told the mongrel came highly recommended, and yet it hadn't been three weeks before he'd found that one of his longtime slaves, a highly moldable, enjoyable and pliant female by the name of Zeela, was with child from the newcomer's attentions. He'd made an example of the slave the moment he found out. One simply could not allow the creatures to breed unsupervised. Heavens only know what would come of that. Too bad that his investment in the slave had not panned out, as it had been reported this morning that the slave had died from inability to recover properly. Perhaps he had bought a genetically unsound slave. No matter. He had many more that were better suited to working for a man of his stature.

He stood and walked to his balcony, admiring the fleet that sat in the harbor mouth. The knowledge that he had complete command over the ships and the men that crewed them never failed to warm his heart. He watched the sea glitter like jewels, bringing to mind the fortunes he would be amassing once he had both the heart and the compass within his possession. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.


	8. Chapter 8

It hadn't taken Will long to realize how easy it was to get turned around in the teeming streets. After a long and frustrating morning of searching, it was midafternoon when the intrepid little group found themselves standing in front of a door, a sense of déjà vu washing over them. A few moments passed before Tia Dalma maneuvered her way to the front and opened the door, leading the way down the familiar passage that seemed to head to the core of the earth. Coming to their destination, they saw the woman sitting in much the same position as before, the only indication she'd made any movement being her clothes, which were more subdued in color than the previous outfit.

They knelt in silence as before, with the exception of Tia Dalma, who stood off to the side with her hands clasped and her head bowed. Theirs seemed more a meeting among equals than supplicants begging aid, but Will refused to let himself dwell on anything but the reason for their visit. The silence stretched until he felt pulled taut by his desire to speak.

/Once more you come to me, young Will. This time you seek what has been lost through your own folly.

MY own folly?! Indignant as he was, he was weak with relief to hear her voice echo inside his mind. Still, gratitude was not enough to keep him from snapping back in his own defense.

/Had you not been so lost in your own self pity, you would have noticed the instant she was taken from your entourage. As it stands, now you seek for her and she is not even within your current sphere of presence.

My what? You mean she's not in Singapore? Where is she? Please, help me. I cannot bear to lose her…

/You cannot bear to lose her, yet you are not sure whether you want to keep her. Such a fine mess. Still, in your search you will learn much. A slight pause had Will holding his breath in anxiety. /She is on a southern island. Sail with the setting sun to your right until you come to a bay that has the appearance of a crescent moon. You will find what you seek on that island.

As she finished, Will noticed Tia Dalma curtsey gracefully and move towards the door, Pintel and Ragetti rising to follow her. Within the silence he thanked the mysterious guide.

/Thank me now if you must, for you will curse me my guidance before your journey sets you free.

Still puzzling over that, he followed the rest out into the waning sunlight.

XXxXxXxXx

_she saw the fire in his eyes as she stepped towards him, the burning that fueled her own resolve…this was the right thing…it had to be the right thing…closer…the feel of him under her fingertips…no distractions…it has to be done…but the need didn't negate the want…and she wanted this…the startled look when he knew she was going to follow through…his lips…he felt…oh gods…_

"No! Jack!" She bolted upright in her bed, searing pain shooting through her body, gasping for breath as the vision of the kraken followed her through to the waking world. A soft touch on her arm made her shriek in fear and shock and she flailed wildly about to ward off the visions. After a few moments she woke completely, staring around her with a slightly gazed expression that finally came to rest on the almond-eyed girl sitting beside her.

"It do be only a dream, only a dream. You do be awake now, and safe. Now, let me check your arm before you do be hurting it more." Searching through her somewhat befuddled mind, Elizabeth tried to remember the other woman's name.

"Ryah!" With that word, everything came flooding back. The kraken, the meeting in Tia Dalma's hut, Barbossa, Singapore…ignoring the discomfort that movement caused, she fell back against the pillows. Ryah's fingers were gentle, probing her arm firmly but carefully, and Elizabeth felt tears start to flood her eyes as she considered the situation she was in and the events that had let to it. When all was told, she supposed it was her fault. If she hadn't…anyway, it was her fault.

"Your arm do look to be healing well. The doctor will be by today to check and see to it himself. Meantime, it do be best for you to rest, and drink some of this broth. You do be needing your strength and your health." Fitting motions to words, the young woman held a spoon of some sauce-covered meat to Elizabeth's mouth. Having already decided her current position left only herself to blame, and that her freedom from said circumstances was also her responsibility, she thought it in her best interests to follow directions for now. She chewed and swallowed, pleasantly surprised that it was flavorful and tender. Bite by bite, she emptied the bowl that Ryah held and indeed felt more human than she had in a while. She had freedom as her goal, and having a goal gave her strength in itself. The other woman seemed pleased to see her charge behaving so well. Putting the bowl aside, she gave Elizabeth a drink of cool water from a nearby glass. As she settled the blankets more comfortably around her, Ryah smiled.

"So what do be your name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Such a pretty name. Well, Elizabeth, it do be time for you to rest some more. You'll be woken when Doctor Patan arrives. Oh, and who be Jack? You did call out for him twice now, once when you fainted and just now when you woke." Seeing that she was not going to get an answer, she murmured a wish for good rest and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Elizabeth let her eyes shut, refusing to give voice to the tears that trickled onto her pillows.

XXxXxXxXx

Odd, he thought. He must have a knack for waking at the same time every day. A chilly bath had removed the worst of the kraken slime from the ragged clothing he wore. Sadly, nothing could save his hat. With a sigh he placed it back on his head. More pressing things to worry about. Like, dinner. He backtracked through the woods to the berry bushes he'd eaten at before and, gathering up as many as he could find, he realized his hat was still good for carrying, at least. A few other fruit on top of the berries, and some sweet roots the likes of which he'd tasted once before in a distant port, and Jack wound his way back to the stream. It was actually quite pleasant here in the coolness, leaning his back against a tree and sipping water from his cupped hands whenever he was thirsty.

After he'd finished his meal and washed up he decided it was time for him to see where he was, so that he could formulate a plan for getting himself back to the sea where he belonged. It wasn't until some time had passed that he realized something incredibly unusual. He'd been awake for quite a while, and yet the light filtering through the gently waving leaves hadn't waxed or waned in the slightest. Making his way back down to the beach, he scanned the horizon from one end to the other. What he saw was naught but waves and sea, and endless beach that stretched straight as far as the eye could see.

Resolving to puzzle this out when he was completely back to strength, he wandered under the trees and headed back to the stream. A man could be almost happy in a place like this, he thought to himself. Stretching back, he leaned his head upon a moss-covered log and closed his eyes. As he fell asleep once more, his thoughts roamed far over the seas and lands, coming to rest on a pair of determined, deep, confused eyes.

XXxXxXxXx

"Time to break fast, Master Swann." He smiled from his seat at the writing desk. Since that first hesitant day, Zeela had been growing more and more comfortable with him, to the point where she now smiled cheerfully and engaged in conversation whenever she brought him his meals. He made sure that the pen was back in the inkwell before standing up to go to the table in the sitting room. The young slave was busy puttering about, setting plates on the table and smiling at him as he sat to eat, but her smile seemed a little strained, the amiability a bit forced. As usual, she stood there until he'd eaten a few bites, but he wondered what was wrong.

"My dear, is something bothering you? You do nor seem yourself today." She shook her head and walked swiftly over to open the curtains. Swann turned around in his chair.

"You know you can talk to me, should you need to." He'd learned quickly that to push her when she didn't want to speak led to more silence than a mute could have offered, so he settled himself back to eating his breakfast. Mopping up the yellow of his egg with his biscuit, he was a bit shocked and very pleased to see her walk around the table to stand in front of him. She looked as though struggling with something when she spoke.

"It be de Master…he…" Her voice dropped to nothingness and yet he held his tongue. If she wished to speak, she would speak. He was still working on fully winning her trust, he knew, hers and those of the other household servants. Loathe to say a word, instead he calmly sipped his tea. But her next words nearly had him spitting it across the room.

"Me havin' a baby, Master Swann."

"Well…that…that's wonderful, my dear!" he sputtered once he stopped choking on warm beverage. "I'm sure Lord Beckett won't mind in the least." Of course he wouldn't, Swann thought. It would give him another to take his aggressions out on. It was then that he saw the tears welling in her eyes and spilling over her caramel-colored cheeks.

"He…Master…he beat de wrong man."

"The wrong man? My dear Zeela, what do you mean?"

"He beat Chal. Beat him till him died. Beat him for givin' me dis baby. But was not Chal's baby. Wish it were. An' now, now Master gwine to know him was wrong."

Swann was stunned. The young man he'd heard being whipped? Was that what she was referring to? He assumed so. His mind was still in knots as to how any person could be so vicious, co cold and unfeeling towards another human. Then again, he thought back to his conversation with Beckett on the matter.

"_How can you treat your own people so? You are a cold man, Lord Beckett."_

"_My people? Hardly. They're barely even human. They are slaves, as much my property as my horses or my dogs. And mine to do with as I wish."_

"_But you killed the young man! Doesn't that bother you in the least?"_

"_Why should it? There are plenty more where that one came from."_

Coming out of his reverie he saw that she was crying in earnest. Without thought, he stood and went to her, holding his arms out to her for comfort as he'd held them out to his own daughter so many times. And like his daughter, Zeela seemed to take comfort in his hug. He let her cry, not knowing how long they stood there, not caring that his tea was cold and his breakfast as well. And after a while, the sobs slowed, slowed, then stopped. He looked down at her tear-streaked face and took his handkerchief from his pocket. He dipped it in his water glass to get it damp before gently wiping the salt streaks from her smooth skin.

"Feeling better, Zeela?" She nodded, and he held out his cup of now cold tea to her. For a moment she looked as though she would refuse to drink.

"It's perfectly alright, my dear. It will help your throat feel better." She timidly took the cup and sipped from it, finishing it with a bit of encouragement. He sat the cup back down and took his seat again, sensing she felt a bit sheepish. Years of dealing alone with Elizabeth's mercurial temperament may not have taught him how to understand the female mind, but it certainly gave him some insight as to how to read their moods. Usually it was better to simply ignore the unspoken signs so that they would not assume you knew them, but at times like this it was far more prudent to follow instinct. Zeela came to herself a moment later.

"Oh, Master Swann, your food be cold! I'mma run down kitchen and get more!" And with that she was off like a shot leaving him chuckling over his cold eggs and empty teacup.


	9. Chapter 9

Barbossa re-read the few lines on the note. Wondering if he could believe bloody Norrington, he handed the note to Gibbs who read it as well.

"What are ye thinkin', Gibbs? Do we trust the turncoat scoundrel?" The other man thought for a moment before answering.

"I don't rightly know, Cap'n. If he's meanin' what he says here, then it might be best to head on back to Singapore. I don't think he knows Miss Elizabeth's not with us right now."

"And if it's a trap?"

"Well, sir, then at least we're forewarned about it and all."

The note's contents were quite simple. Tell Elizabeth to keep the compass safe and hidden until he came for it. Do not let anyone lay hands on it. Beckett wanted it very badly, and Norrington was determined not to make it easy on him.

His mind made up, Barbossa headed up to the deck, undead monkey on his shoulder and Gibbs following behind.

"All o'you. We've got a new heading. We're going back to Singapore. It seems our old friend Norrington wants to see that a certain item stays out of the hands of our _beloved_ Lord Beckett. And I'm inclined to agree." The sarcasm had the crew chuckling as they scampered back to their posts. Barbossa walked to the helm, laying his hands on the wheel to begin to guide the ship in a smooth about-face.

"Cap'n, what about Jack?" At Gibbs' concerned expression, Barbossa laughed.

"I've no doubts that he's alive and well. And if he gets into trouble before we gets there – well, he's the famous Captain Jack Sparrow. He'll find his way out."

Gibbs hoped so. He had no idea what the mystic had told Barbossa, but the last thing Zatelle had said before young Turner took off in search of the lass was that Gibbs would find himself first mate under a new captain. And while Gibbs could deal with Barbossa as long as they had the common goal of finding and rescuing Jack, staying aboard with the mutinous leader was not exactly Gibbs' idea of a good sail.

XXxXxXxXx

It took her a moment when she awoke to remember where she was. Once that realization dawned, it made perfect sense that there was a white-haired gentleman unwrapping the bandages from her arm and speaking to another woman in a low, soothing voice.

"Please be so kind as to tell Mother that her arm is completely healed. It will take some days before the strength returns fully to the limb, but it healed beautifully." With a nod Ryah left, turning to smile at Elizabeth before she shut the door. The good doctor began rolling up the strips of cloth and placing them in the outer pocket of his satchel, humming under his breath. Elizabeth felt him to be a good man, so she took her chances speaking.

"Thank you, sir. It feels so much better than it did…well, when I first arrived." He sensed the discomfort in her words and came to sit on the corner of the bed beside her. Taking her hands in his, he spoke softly and swiftly.

"I am aware that you were sold without your knowledge or consent, miss, however I would definitely suggest against doing anything rash such as attempting to escape. Ti-Sian is very likely the most powerful woman – nay, person – on these islands, and she owns nearly as many hunters and assassins as she does companions. If you value your life, you will not try to escape or cause any harm to those around you, for her punishment is brutal and without delay." He seemed almost shocked at the words that were coming out of his mouth, so Elizabeth decided not to press him to say more for fear he would bolt. Changing what she was going to ask, she ventured onto what she felt may be safer ground.

"What is to become of me here? No one has told me much of anything, except for Ryah, and all she has said is that once I am healed I'm to be trained as a…companion?" The last word came out more querulous and scared than she could have wished. Even so, it was a moment before the doctor spoke again.

"That is correct, miss. You see, a companion is not a loose woman, not as you might expect. In fact, in British culture, there is no place for such a position among women. Here, however, it is a vital part of their culture. A young woman of low stature may gain much prestige and honor if she serves as a companion faithfully. Many among the aristocrats of society feel that only a companion will make a suitable wife, you see, so if, say, the youngest daughter of a family of eight, with her father a poor fisherman, is deemed beautiful enough or talented enough, she may very well find herself the equivalent of a duchess or an earle should she become a companion."

"So, with the exception of these companions, am I to then assume local women have no real place in the hierarchy of society?"

"Not at all, my dear, it's just that the lack of education for any who cannot afford it does not lend itself to a lot of choices for the average woman. You grew up as a woman of some standing, I would expect." Elizabeth chuckled.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to one who has spent time among British well-to-do's." Here he chuckled himself. "One can learn to spot a British noble simply by the way they pronounce their words, and the aplomb with which they carry themselves. Though I'd hazard a guess you were quite the handful for your parents." She smiled, but chose to say nothing to acknowledge the truth of the statement. Thinking about her father made her want to weep. She quickly continued her questioning.

"So, you're not from…wherever this place is? I assume I am no longer in Singapore."

"No, you are not and no, I am not. I was trained in the medical arts in England, then chose to come back here to assist the people of my mother's birth." At her puzzled look, he laughed out loud. "My mother was a companion herself, in fact. A companion that caught the eye of a somewhat well-to-do British sailor. I assume he was successful, whether on or off the books I don't know, for he died shortly after I was born, but had left my mother enough to settle herself comfortably for the rest of her days, and send me away to become a doctor. When my schooling was complete, I came back here."

Elizabeth let the new information sink in. As she was thinking, the doctor finished gathering the rest of his equipment and preparing to depart.

"Thank you, sir. For the information, and the conversation. It seems I have much to think on now."

"You do that, my dear. I think you'll find that this is not a bad life. Simply different from what you know. Who knows? You may find yourself the wife of a very wealthy man, and not have to work for the rest of your days." He started out the door.

"Wait! My name is Elizabeth. I don't believe I caught yours."

"Patan. Geoffrey Patan. At your service." And with that, he whisked out the door and into the hall, nodding to Ryah as she passed by on her way back into the room.

"Mother, she will see you now. We are to see you are dressed suitably. I do think I guessed your size properly, but we do be able to adjust it if it does no fit." Elizabeth let herself be bundled out of bed and into the slate-blue gown, while all the time her mind whirled and spun like a child's toy. If being obedient and attentive to her lessons would allow her any sort of freedom, well, she would learn what they taught and do as they said and bide her time. Sooner or later, they would open their claws, and she would fly free. Until then, she would be patient if it killed her.

It was only as they left the room, with her following Ryah down the long twisting hallways, that she realized the good Doctor never told her where on the map they were.

XXxXxXxXx

The inn looked as he remembered from his last unpleasant stay. The unpleasantness, however, was his own doing, he realized now. As Norrington walked down the streets, sans wig and formal trappings, he paused to nod to those who he'd been in contact with often. He didn't stay to chat, attempting to seem in a hurry so those that knew him would not try to talk to him. No one took offense. This was Tortuga, after all, and those that weren't here on some sort of low business were those that lived here, earning their keep through promoting those low business deals.

Swiftly skirting the alleys and byways, he wound his way through the port town until he came to the place he sought. Walking in freely, he strode clear to the back of the little shop and thumped his fist on the creaky wooden door twice. A short, bald old man opened the door for him. Neither said a word as Norrington sat at the table, with the old man disappearing behind another door. A few moments later the door opened to allow the robed person he'd come to meet to enter the room as well.

"Do you have the money?" the slurred voice asked. In response, he plunked a plain canvas pouch onto the center of the table. A slim hand snuck out from the arm of the robe and made the pouch disappear into the sleeve with a swiftness most cutpurses would have envied.

"The message you seek was this: Tell Beckett his orders are being carried out to the letter. The girl will lose her spirit before her life." With that, the robed figure rose and left through the same door it had entered through.

Disturbed by this turn of events, Norrington walked swiftly out into the hazy light and headed back to the inn.

XXxXxXxXx

He spent his time either sleeping or eating, and didn't see much of a problem with that. It had been too long since he'd simply stopped doing something and enjoyed being alive. This place, wherever it happened to be, seemed to have the most consistent climate and, of course, lighting he'd ever seen. Jack wandered aimlessly through the trees, wishing idly for a bottle of rum or a nice chicken dinner, but overall he was very pleased with where he washed up. Never did it dawn on him that he should probably seek a way off of the island – for island it was. He'd walked the whole way around it, though it had taken him…well, time seemed irrelevant in this place. He knew it had taken him a while though. It also did not bother him that he had no way to gauge his bearings. No change in light meant no sun or stars to navigate by, should he have had a vessel to navigate. No, nothing of the sort actually entered his mind, a fact that those who knew him best would find incredibly disturbing, had they been present. But they were not. In all of his wandering he'd not found a single living creature, not bird, nor fish, nor bug, and certainly no people. And quite unlike his usual self, he wasn't bothered by the least of it.

Had he been thinking as he usually did, he would have recalled the myth of the island at World's End. The little stretch of land that existed in neither day nor night, an island of perpetual spring. An island of eventual nothingness. He would have recalled the tales he'd heard over a pint or two that mentioned a small island where time itself did not exist, where any who stayed on it lost more and more of their memories, their dreams, their desires the longer they stayed. The island that could never ever be sailed to, but that had been found by the occasional shipwrecked sailor. The island that drained you of everything you were, and the one few were ever known to escape. He'd have realized the severity of his predicament. But he did not even think of it.

As he walked back along the beach once more, he vaguely recalled wishing for something a few moments earlier, but he couldn't quite bring it to mind. No matter. He returned to the bed of branches and leaves he'd put together since he'd gotten there and lay down, chocolate eyes closing ever so slowly as he drifted back to sleep once more. And as had been the pattern lately, his dreams were filled with her smile.


	10. Chapter 10

Will stared into his mug morosely. Two more days had come and gone, and they still hadn't been able to buy, beg, or barter passage on a ship willing to sail the southern islands. In fact, by the way most seadogs reacted, the desire to do so was an extreme oddity. He sighed and took another drink.

The four of them were seated around a splintering wooden table in a bar, automatically ignoring the sounds and bustle around them. A few serving wenches wound their way through the crowd, their avoidance of gropes and pinches nearly instinctual from years of practice. It was the perfect place to go when you didn't want to be anywhere. Unfortunately, Will knew where he wanted to be. On a ship, bound for the islands to the south and in search of Elizabeth. He still hadn't forgiven her, but he knew he had to find her. It already felt like a piece of his soul had been ripped from him. So lost in pain and worry and anger, he didn't notice the shadow as it blocked out what dim light there was in the doorway. It wasn't until the chair beside him scraped across the floor that he thought to look up.

"I thought ye'd be harder to find, Turner," said Barbossa as he dropped into the chair. Will was so stunned for a moment that he could do nothing but stare. He found his tongue with effort.

"Barbossa? What are you doing here? Did you find Jack already?" The older man laughed.

"Sail to the end of the world and back by now? Hardly. No, we were about three days out when we got approached by a truce ship. Seemed they carried a message from an old friend." He tossed the folded parchment down on the table in front of Will, who looked at it dumbly. "It won't bite, boy," Barbossa said with a chuckle.

"From Norrington?" Will muttered incredulously. It took him all of about three seconds to read the few lines on the note. "But Elizabeth didn't have the compass! It went down with Jack and the Pearl!" Barbossa looked troubled, but changed the subject quickly.

"Well, no matter. We'll find it. Speaking of finding, have ye located the fair Miss Swann?" Quickly Will filled him in on everything, realizing for the first time that with Barbossa and his ship here, they had found their transportation to the southern islands at last.

"Zatelle told ye that, now, did she? She'd be who to ask." A glance at Tia Dalma showed Barbossa exactly who had suggested going to the wytch. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he turned back to Will.

"Well, now, Turner, it seems we've need to go to this crescent-bay island. We sail with the tide. Get some rest before we set out." With that, he stood up from the table and was gone, leaving the four of them to make their way to their rooms to prepare for the trip they were finally going to get to make.

XXxXxXxXx

The evening was just losing the last vestiges of rosy light as Elizabeth finished her chores. It seemed, to her estimation, that a lot of a companion's work was cleaning, scrubbing, and washing. Which, she thought dryly, was most likely the reason so many aristocrats wanted to marry one. Stretching the last garment out on the peculiar drying stands these people used, she stood up and stretched, her back protesting the movement at the same time it thanked her for it. She carefully poured the tub of water out into the runoff ditch and propped the empty tub against the stone wall built for that exact purpose. As near as she could figure, she had time to wash herself quickly before she had to change and go to the first of her evening classes.

It hadn't taken long for her to understand that as long as she did what they expected of her that her life would be almost hassle-free. And that the better she worked, the more likely she was to be without a guard for periods of time. It had only been a few days since Ti-Sian had deemed her fit to begin her lessons, and in that time she'd realized that if she could lull them into believing she was content with her new position, she'd have a much better chance to escape.

Back in the room she shared with Ryah, she quickly stripped and washed herself down, making sure that she refilled the basin with fresh water once she was done. As she folded the light grey dress that was the typical chore outfit and donned the dark grey one that was for lesson times, her mind worked furiously. When Ryah came in, Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of her pallet with her legs folded, running a brush through her hair before plaiting it back into the braid that was another requirement for all companions. Those that weren't fully trained, that is. A fully trained companion, as she'd learned, could choose what she wore, how she dressed her hair, what and when to eat for meals, and a host of other small freedoms she'd taken for granted. She and Ryah finished at about the same time, the other woman being much more proficient in the uniform change having been there longer. They rushed out of the room and down the hall to the front door, then out into the newborn evening darkness to the building down the road for their dance lesson.

Her mind was focused only as much as absolutely necessary on the steps, her body flowing to the odd sound of the instruments they used, concentrating just enough to keep in time and follow the steps they were learning. The rest of her thoughts were focused on the determined effort to formulate a way to freedom. She almost succeeded in emptying her mind of everything but the dance and her escape. She only thought of Jack and her guilt…well, every other second.

XXxXxXxXx

He sat there, his elbows braced on the smooth surface of the desk as his steepled fingertips rested gently underneath his chin. News was not always good, and he had to admit he'd been quite lucky as of late. It was only a matter of time until something didn't go as planned. This time, though, he had a backup plan. And it was one he'd been itching to use since it was dropped onto his desk. Walking to the chest in the corner, he unlocked it and smiled at the beating organ within. It would take next to no time to prepare the messages needed to put his plan into action. Norrington would find his treachery repaid tenfold by the very thing he's used to buy his own salvation.

Beckett could admire the irony. He doubted Norrington would.

XXxXxXxXx

Tia Dalma watched the glitter of the rising sun on the water, reading the omens in the wind and waves as easily as breathing. With the ship at full sail and the crew to their various tasks, and with young Turner still belowdecks and not nearby to confuse her with his energy, it was the most restful span of time she'd had since…well, since Jack sauntered into her home after his long long absence and she'd had to send him and the rest on the trip she knew would lead to the loss of the wonderfully frustrating man.

Settling her shawl a bit closer around her shoulders to thwart the slight icy bite of the ocean winds, she rested one hand on the railing and let her thoughts run free. If the didn't find Jack soon, he'd not be Jack when they did. But without Miss 'Lizabeth, even if they did find him he wouldn't be Jack. She fumed at the blind spots her fortunes and omens left. With only Zatelle's knowledge to go on and none of her own to fill the gaps, she felt a bit like a ship without a rudder. Or a captain.

She knew he'd come back to her, and she knew he'd never be hers again. She'd known that since he left with the compass. But knowing and feeling were two different things. Still, he owed her that. He'd not known about Davy until the last, and it was because of that he'd left to strike that bargain. Her hand reached to the hidden pocket in the front of her skirt and took out the pendant. She held it up to catch the brightening morning light as it spun in the wind. The chain hung over the back of her hand, still broken from where she'd yanked it off of her neck to throw in anger. Oh, such a tangle.

Still sorting her thoughts, she stared off into the sunrise until the noises of the crew broke her out of her reverie. Feeling the need to be alone still, she brushed past Will without even a glance as she headed to her cabin. It was a measure of their distraction that neither of them noticed the other as they passed in the hallway. By the time Tia Dalma was lying on her bunk staring at the ceiling, Will had unknowingly taken the patch of railing she'd just abandoned and stared out at the wild expanse of sea. But whereas it was a calming influence for her, all he felt was loss and confusion.


	11. Chapter 11

"You may be wondering why I have called you in here," said Beckett, not even bothering to turn around and face Swann. The former governor was perfectly content with that, however, as it meant he was spared from having to meet his eyes. It also meant that his expression of sarcasm went unnoticed by the arrogant man.

"Yes, I did wonder that," he lied. As was the pattern to their last few meetings, Weatherby knew he was permitted to take a seat without waiting for Beckett to sit first. It was a small allowance, true, but just the idea of standing in the other man's presence like a servant was morally repugnant, and so he took his seat with ease.

"It seems my trust has been...misguided." Beckett was gently caressing the beautifully carved chest in the corner, his fingers tracing the designs with apparent lack of thought, but Weatherby was not fooled. He knew there was something in the chest, something powerful, and he prayed that whatever it was, it would stay as far from his daughter as possible. He turned his attention back to what Beckett was saying.

"Commodore Norrington. He was once a suitor for your lovely daughter's hand, was he not?"

"Yes, he was. And excellent young man of some standing, with a brilliant naval career."

"And yet she turned from him to fling herself into the arms of a...blacksmith?" Swann tensed, knowing that Beckett knew full well the details of Elizabeth's life, and his own. But it was obvious he was waiting for a response, so Weatherby spoke, throwing out just enough details for the younger man to believe he was cowed into submission.

"Yes. Young Turner, though having no claim to title, is a hardworking and loyal man. He and Elizabeth have shared a close bond since the day we pulled him from the sea and placed him in her care."

"You have no objections to your only offspring marrying far below her station?" The man's voice was snide and it was an effort for Swannn to not rise to the bait.

"I have no objections to my daughter choosing love and contentment over some unnecessary trappings and social stature." He paused, pretending to think before continuing. "Commodore Norrington would have made sure Elizabeth wanted for nothing...except the man she loved. I was fortunate to find my love, her mother, in my sphere of influence, but Elizabeth has always followed her heart, and I want nothing more than her safety and happiness."

"So you won't be disappointed when I tell you that Commodore Norrington is a traitor and turncoat." Weatherby gaped appropriately. Surely Beckett wasn't vain enough to have believed that Norrington followed him out of loyalty.

"Traitor? In what way?"

"In the fact that he had very specific orders to go retrieve an item of immense interest and worth to the East India Trading Company, and not only has he not returned with the item, but I have received word that he does not intend to return at all."

"Well, that is simply inappropriate," Weatherby voiced with what he hoped was the right amount of mild outrage. Inside, however, he was cheering. Surely now that both Turner and Norrington were out there, his beloved Elizabeth would be safe. Beckett looked long and hard at the older man, who refused to give anything of his real thoughts away. The Trading Company man may have been an expert at business, scrupulous or not, but Weatherby Swann had been a governor since before Beckett had ever captained his first ship. And if there was one thing he knew, it was the fine art of spinning words and appearances. After a moment Beckett was convinced of Swann's agreement and turned back to the wall, this time staring at his gigantic map.

"I will need your assistance," he began, pausing to wait for a response. Insides danging with glee, Swann replied.

"Whatever I can do," he murmured softly.

"I will need you to draft two letters..."

XXxXxXxXx

Morning came early in the house of Ti'Sian. Before the sun was even rising, Elizabeth felt Ryah's soft fingers on her shoulder.

"It do be time to wake and eat. Today you are to be presented before Mother, and we do only have a short time to make you ready." Elizabeth felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head. Today? SHe would meet the woman who bought her today? In a hurried daze she allowed Ryah to help her wash, then wind her hair into an intricate style she'd never seen before. As if that weren't odd enough, the gown laid out was far from the usual uniforms she wore. This one was a powder blue silk, decorated with what she'd been told were cranes and dragons in brilliant sea-green embroidery, chased at the hems and neckline with silver and pearls. A wide belt of the same green shade as the designs lay beside the dress, and soft-looking slippers waited on the floor.

"What is all the finery for?" she couldn't help but ask. It took Ryah a moment to respond as she had several hairpins in her mouth, but after placing them precisely where needed to hold Elizabeth's long tresses in whatever semblance of appropriate style the girl had deemed necessary, she spoke.

"When one meets Mother for the first time, she do be attired in graceful clothing, showing poise and beauty. It do be easier then for Mother to determine her bid price, as well as what new tasks or skills she do be desiring the new companion learn." Ryah helped Elizabeth drop the dress over her head, pulling it swiftly on so as not to bunch her undergarments. The belt, Elizabeth learned, was wide only in the center, tapering off at either end. Ryah had Elizabeth hold the wide center of the belt over her bellybutton, wrapping the ends around the back and tying it swiftly and tightly before twisting the tapered ends together and bringing them up, only to wrap one end around each side of Elizabeth's slender neck and tie them in the front. As she stepped into the slippers, musing at the feel of silk against her feet when nothing but rough canvas had touched her skin in so long, Ryah affixed dangling gemstones to her earlobes with some sort of adhesive substance. A few moments later and she was thoroughly bedecked and nervous as a girl awaiting her first kiss. Well, maybe not that. Elizabeth honestly admitted she was more uneasy now than she had ever been at the prospect of an intimate kiss.

"You do be ready. Follow me." Without further word Ryah left and began walking down the hallway, twisting through turn after turn until Elizabeth knew herself hopelessly lost within the maze that was her current residence. They stopped before a door, Ryah turning to her.

"This do be Mother's office. I will be entering on my knees and remaining so, but you do be walking in as you are. You do not be adressing Mother unless she asks you a question, and then only long enough to answer. Above all, do not speak unless requested. Mother...well, she do be powerful, and power does not always bring kindness." Having thus spoken, Ryah gave her a brief hug before dropping to her knees and opening the door. With a large gulp of air to try and quiet her nerves, Elizabeth held her head high and followed her friend into the room beyond the door.


	12. Chapter 12

He had no idea how long he'd been walking and furthermore he didn't care. It wasn't that he was being stubborn. Rather, it was that he wasn't aware of the ability to care. Aside from eating and drinking, which were reflexive now rather than impulsive, the only thing he still had were her eyes in his mind, the feel of her lips caressing his. Something told him to hold to that, a something that didn't seem to exist. But hold he did, keeping the impressions and memories tighter to him than he had ever kept anything else. Not that he could remember keeping anything else. No, all he had was the eternal light, the unending beach, and the memory of a woman he could never tame.

XXxXxXxXx

The squall had blown up suddenly. One moment he'd been leaning against the railing, the next he decided to retire to his bunk. He'd not even made it halfway down the ladder before the cry went out.

"To your stations! It's blowin' hard!" Galvanized into movement Will darted back up the ladder to see the black clouds rolling in, closing quickly on the starboard side.

"It's witchcraft, mark my words!" muttered Gibbs. Barbossa's voice rang out, surly and strong as usual.

"Get it together, lads! Mind the bo'sun's call! This means to hit us hard, and I won't have it!" As he finished speaking, it seemed the storm rose to the challenge in his voice, throwing gusts of wind at the vessel hard enough to rock it dangerously. Acting on reflex now, Will and the others followed the instructions put forth from the whistles that echoed over the raging storm, audible even when the captain's voice would not have been. Racing with purpose, the crew worked together to keep the vessel as stable as they could while the black clouds whipped the sea into a frenzy. Hauling line with the rest of the crew, Will found himself repeating Elizabeth's name over and over, a talisman against an unknown fate. The storm seemed to not care, but he did. With every breath he took, he fought against not only the sea, but his own fears. He would find Elizabeth again. He would.

XXxXxXxXx

She stood in the doorway, unsure of what she was to do next. Her question, however, was answered quickly.

"Step forward."

Moving gracefully, she held her head high as she stepped into the light. The woman at the desk was not what she had expected. Her hair was black as night, shimmering slightly in the light from the oil lamps, half of it wound into an intricate series of braids and knots on the top of her head while the rest was left unfettered to fall and ripple down her back to well below her waist. Her skin was a dusky olive color, not unusual for these people, Elizabeth knew. But it was her eyes that stopped her in her place. They were a lovely, deep turquoise, framed by luxuriously long lashes, and they pierced right through Elizabeth, making her feel almost as though the woman was reading her mind. Her crisp, cool voice broke into Elizabeth's mental reverie.

"I am to understand that, after your initial reaction, you have taken well to your training. Your instructors speak highly of your skill and dexterity. And I see you carry yourself with confidence. That is a wonderful appearance, but we shall have to see that it does not lead to pride. Pride would be...highly dangerous for you, my dear." Ti-Sian stood, her gown not unlike Elizabeth's own, though it clung more to the woman's curves and was made of a smooth, soft-looking fabric in a deep red color. She walked around Elizabeth who, remembering what Ryah had told her, stood entirely still and calm, saying nothing, not even when the woman reached out to untie the knot at her neck. She stayed motionless as the belt was unwound, removed, while Ti-Sian's hands smoothed down the fabric of the dress over her hips. But when the other woman's fingers went to open the row of hidden buttons down the back of the dress, Elizabeth whirled to face her.

"What on earth are you doing?" she demanded, her voice imperious and affronted more by reflex than by actual emotion. The slap caught her off guard.

"Never speak unless you are directly addressed." Ti-Sian's voice never changed in tone, but there was a bite of ice to it that hadn't been there before. "I had thought to spare you the unfamiliarity of a formal disrobing, but I see your insolence leaves me no choice." She reached over to the desk and rang a small silver bell. Immediately a man walked into the room. He was dressed in a pair of billowing black silk trousers, his toned chest bare, his eyes unreadable. "You will stand there while Gocho removes your clothing for my inspection." Elizabeth gasped, turning white. She was to what? She didn't open her mouth, though she wanted to scream. ~Let me endure this. I must have their trust if I am ever to escape.~

She felt his hands trailing lightly down her baack, deftly opening the small buttons as he went. It took less than a minute, but it felt like hours. Elizabeth concentrated on keeping her breathing even and steady as she felt his large hands, surprisingly gentle and impersonal, push the garment off of her shoulders and slide it down her hips to pool on the floor. She kept her head high, willing this to be over quickly, but then she felt his hands lifting the hem of her undershirt. Fear hit her then, hard. Not only was she to be inspected, whatever that meant, but here was a man she did not know, who was divesting her of her clothing...who would be seeing her nude. Elizabeth, strong though her resolve was, began to shake slightly.

"Lift your arms." She dared not disobey that voice. She recognized the steel underlying the words, and she knew that if she displeased the cold woman before her, she would likely be put to death, or worse. So she raised her arms slowly over her head, the motion allowing this Gocho person to remove her shirt, leaving her standing bare from the waist up. She couldn't help the tears that began to trail slowly down her cheeks. Ti-Sian seemed oblivious, instead standing and walking around her for a slow perusal.

"Slender, but with muscle, not emaciated. Very nice. Skin smooth and unbroken, unmarred with either scarring or defects." She returned to stand in front of Elizabeth, who was by this time clinging to her hopes of escape like a drowning person would clutch at reeds on the riverbank. But all thought fled when the woman reached up and cupped her naked breasts in her hands. Elizabeth cried out in fear and shock, dropping her arms to cover herself. It earned her another slap, this one harder than the first.

"Gocho, hold her hands up." Though she struggled, Elizabeth was no match for the strength of her captor, and her only consolation was that he didn't seem to be deriving any pleasure out of holding her motionless while Ti-Sian squeezed and stroked her breasts. Finally, with a clinical air, the woman backed up.

"You may release her, Gocho," she said, turning to her desk and moving some papers. "I understand your name is Elizabeth, is that correct?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice small. Never had she felt so abused, so mistreated.

"Well, Elizabeth, there is one final thing I must ascertain, and then you shall be returned to your duties. Step over here." With quick steps she moved to stand where indicated, sure that the worst was over. "Lean forward onto the desk, and hold on to the edge." Suddenly Elizabeth felt the man's fingers peeling her undergarments down over her hips, and she knew what was next. Despite her best efforts, she began to cry.

"I must determine the state of your innocence so as to properly set a price for you." Elizabeth, past fighting now, dropped her head to the desk and sobbed openly. She didn't resist when, at Ti-Sian's orders Gocho positioned her ankles farther apart. She didn't move a muscle as his large fingers spread her womanhood and rubbed some sort of oil onto it.

"Now, hold still. I would hate for you to be ruined by your own stupidity. Test her, Gocho." Elizabeth felt him shift his grip, felt the tip of his finger against her most secret area, and the unmistakably odd sensation of it sliding into her. He went slowly, and there was no pain, but Elizabeth felt broken all the same. His finger quested deeper, deeper, feeling as though it was going on forever, until she felt it brush something, press against it. Involuntarily her hips shifted, ever-so-slightly.

"She is pure, Mother," his gravelly voice rumbled, and Elizabeth realized it was the first she had heard him speak. Her disjointed mind grasped on their conversation to escape her current situation.

"Very good. Thank you, Gocho, I can finish from here." She felt him withdraw his finger as slowly as he had inserted it, and wondered if she was completely insane when she missed the sensation once it was gone. She heard his footsteps as he left, and then the icy voice of Ti-Sian intruded into her thoughts.

"Stand. I will assist you in re-gowning." On automatic Elizabeth stood, not putting up a bit of a fight as the other woman dressed her. Finally she was clothed once again, and Ti-Sian walked to sit down at the desk. Bowing over her paperwork once more, she spoke.

"You may return to your normal duties. I will call for you once I have determined who is to be your buyer." Though the dismissal was curt, Elizabeth felt nothing but numbness at what had just transpired. Without another word she turned and left. Ryah stood in the hallway waiting for her, and one look at her face had the companion wrapping her into a hug.

"It will be fine, Elizabeth. Things do have a way of working out. It do be a test we all go through." Still she said nothing, letting Ryah lead her back through the twisting hallways to their room.


End file.
